


On My Skin

by BluBoi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8554498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluBoi/pseuds/BluBoi
Summary: She loved art.. Even more so when it was on her. Based on the soulmate AU that what you draw/write on yourself is visible to your soulmate.





	1. I found swirls of life

I didn’t try doodle much on myself, and ever since mother told me the rules of the soul I have refrained from ever doing so again. These days, the one special to you, your soul mate, your loved one, your partner. Can see whatever you draw on yourself, on themselves. Yes, this is a little weird and can cause a little trouble, but in some cases it can be a blessing... 

As I said, I don’t draw, and I’m not at all that artistic, but I loved to look at art. I love to watch artists create small worlds on a canvas. So with this passion, I decided to go and explore as many art industries as possible. I took the bus and each day I would hop off at a different stop, walking aimlessly till I felt a pull to somewhere of interest. Today I ended up on the top floor of a university that was hosting an open day of sorts. I was directed towards the art classrooms and traversed up the stairs to a wide open plan room, with shelves littered with beautiful creations and walls decorated in magnificent amounts of colour. I wandered in, in a daze, admiring the designs around me. It was long though before someone had run into me and now I was covered in paint. 

I shrugged it off as the nervous, messy haired boy mumbled apologies and picked up his things, quickly darting off before I could muster any words. Covered in the pinks and blues I looked at my soaked hands a frowned, I hope I didn’t upset whoever has paint on their hands and legs too. With an embarrassed flush across my cheeks, I dashed to find a bathroom and once I found one I removed my jacket and wiped as much off as I could. Washing my hands vigorously and smearing the not purple colour off my legs as best as possible. When I was satisfied I picked up my things and dashed back to the bus stop, waiting patient and enduring the weird looks I received. 

I eventually got home, stripped off and took a long hot shower. Leading the beads of warmth trickle down my tense shoulders. Feeling more relaxed I put on my comfy pants and a loose shirt, curling up with a novel on the couch.

It wasn’t long though before I felt a cold sting along my right upper arm. I rubbed it lightly, ignoring it as I was engrossed in the story of a devil trapped in a book. Nonetheless, the weird itchy wet feeling persisted and I dropped my book to glare harshly at my arm. 

My rage at the annoying tingle vanished as I watched a bright yellow traced down my shoulder and curve up my forearm. The yellow was joined by a vivid green that zigged and zagged along the crease of my elbow. I became hypnotized as the colours continued to appear, Transfixed on each gentle stroke that covered my arm.

In time my entire arm was coloured in and I got up to look in the mirror. Lifting my sleeve up slightly, I peered at my reflection. In the mist of oranges and limes was a beautiful woman, laying on a bed of bright yellow roses. Her long blue hair followed her curves, the blue tinted with pinks and purples, almost like a galaxy. Her body covered in a white dress, decorated at the hem with bright red roses. I smiled, my heart filling with what could only be described as appreciation for the masterpiece that now covered my arm. I didn’t stop smiling the rest of the evening and that night I went to bed feeling blissful.

My arm laid across me, my figures resting lazily on my other arm. Having danced across the figure over and over till my eyes would no longer open. I looked down with a tired smirk, to find the blur of colour being considerably faded. I didn’t expect the artists behind it to of kept it long. 

Days past and every so often new pieces would arrive, and every time I would stop what I was doing. I would sit down and relish the tingle as each new line was drawn across me. Each new work was even more refined, more beautiful. I took photos of every one. 

 

One day though I wanted to do something in return, I grabbed a purple marker and in my neatest scrawl I wrote on my arm. “Thank you for creating such wonderful art… I feel like I am undeserving to have such beauty painted on me.” In mere minutes a thin line of ink, in a swirling cursive began to write on my forearm. “You are deserving of everything” A small heart in red ink followed curling its way into my palm. I curled it into a fist holding it close to my chest. “When can I meet the magnificence behind these beauties?” 

A smiling face was drawn on my wrist, followed with 1 simple word. “Soon.”


	2. In The Ink,  I Found a face

I returned to the building that I have become so frequent to. Walking around with a dazed look at the art that constantly filled every inch of the room, and every day something new was to be found. Will a lot less paint soaking my clothing I wander past the paintings and sculptures, quietly sneaking around the chairs of the empty class. I had partaken in it once or twice, but watching was so much more fun. After discussing this with the cheerful bald man at the front, Mr Galin informed me he was happy to accommodate my habit and allowed me in early to find a seat. 

The hush whispers of eager students flowed from the other room as I curled up on my seat, waiting to see what they would paint today. It wasn’t long before all the canvas had a person standing, or sitting before them. It was not long now before familiar quiet seeped into the room as the teacher entered. He swiftly marked roll, checking for me in the back after and then proceeded to inform the class of today’s challenge. Hours past and I watched at inches of paint moved across the boards, gentle strokes or hard crawling from the corners and centres of the canvas.

It was reaching the end of the lesson and now I was free to roam, students were packing up there inks and paints, and I made an effort to at least observe each piece as I flittered past. Today though one had me transfixed. I stared at it mouth agape as I tilted my head to the side to get a better look. There in a swirl of green and orange was the woman, laying on a bed of baby pink roses. Almost the exact same as the one that graced my arm a month before. My gaze was so fixated on the haze of colour that I couldn’t move, or speak. The thoughts of finding the painter of this consumed my brain as I gawked. Mr G chuckled, his pant on the back pulling me from my stupor. “It seems you rather like that one.” He chortled as he wanders back to pack his things. Lifting my head up and straighten my neck I looked over to him with a faint blush. “W-Who painted it?” He gazed down at a form before looking up at me with a confused gaze. “A new one, not on the list yet ‘m afraid.” I tried to hide my disappointment. Barely able to supress the sigh in my throat. 

“Should be back next week though I s’pose” he said warmly, gesturing to the door as we walked. “I hope so...” I whispered, and with that made farewell and headed back to the bus station like usual. 

 

I laid in bed that night wishing I had found the painter behind that woman. My heart was stuck in my throat as I thought about the fact of finding my soulmate. ‘Was is a woman? Mr G hadn’t given away a gender... Will they like me? What if it’s just a coincidence and it’s not them? ‘ I was so lost in my own head that I didn’t recognise the familiar tingle running down my ankle and it was only when I got up to clear my head with some water did I see the large mess of blue on my left leg. 

It was an ocean, soft blues and clean whites drifted across my ankle and bent round my heel. Amongst the waves was a light green and I swear I could almost see fish. Sitting down on my soft carpet I glared at my foot, holding it close to my face. And there surrounded by blues and seafoam was not seaweed, by a pair of emerald eyes, just faintly hiding under the surface of the water. I put my foot down looking off to the mirror. ‘Was that their eyes?’ My chest grew warm at the thought. 

The week went begrudgingly slow. Work was boring, people where merely shadows past my vision and the paintings in the hallways were nothing more than some terrible sketches. The only thing I looked forward to was Monday, where maybe... just maybe I’d find them…  
On the Sunday night I willed my eyes to close, but no matter what I tried I continued to look at the 10:31 that blinked back at me from the clock. It was in that moment that I felt something graze my arm. “I can see you...” was written in the neat writing that I had missed from the month ago. I looked at it with muddled eyes ‘they saw me?’ how did they know?’ I looked back down at my ankle however and it clicked. I grabbed the marked from my side draw and wrote back. “You’re eyes are like emeralds.” It was the first thought I had had when I saw them after all. In reply, I got a cute face and the words “Don’t make me blush…” I giggled, “I bet you look cute when you do” I didn’t get a response and I was wondering if I had upset or embarrassed them. “Pity you can’t see it then...” although I couldn’t hear it there seemed to be a hint of sadness to this and I was determined to not let that happen. I was reminded of the night they had first written to me, “Soon, remember?”   
There was a pause and then “I hope so.”   
With that resolve, I shut the pen, put it away and laid back down. Monday could not come faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know if this is even any good.. Maybe I'll continue ? (Also I should apologise my grammar is terrible and stuff ;-; )  
> -I try.. >~

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Not sure how long this will be? ;-;


End file.
